


UNCLE university

by the_worrying_kind



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, a brief cameo by the stache, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13117332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_worrying_kind/pseuds/the_worrying_kind
Summary: A university AU where Illya and Napoleon are forced to share an office.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valmora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/gifts).



> Thank you so much to my lovely beta el3anorrigby who helped me through whenever I got stuck!
> 
> Warning: Written by an European with little to no clue how universities in the States operate. 
> 
> Based on this prompt:  
> The one where IK is a newly-hired assistant professor of engineering (I'm partial to him being an electrical engineer) and NS is a newly-hired assistant professor of [take your pick of: marketing, art history, art restoration, Japanese, economics]. They meet at a "new university hires" meet and greet, and hit it off. Literally or figuratively, your choice.  
> I'm not stuck on it being their meeting - you could set that as being the background and instead have a domestic scene of NS grumpily grading undergraduate final papers while IK, who has graduate TAs for that, makes dinner. Or something.
> 
> I hope what I wrote is even somewhat what you wanted!

Illya had rarely felt as frazzled as he had been feeling during the past two days. Not only was he starting a new job in a new country, but due to a clerical error, said job was starting a whole month earlier than he had thought. Illya had arrived to the States only yesterday but his classes were about to start in two days. This meant that he had missed the orientation program the university usually offered to its new employees and was feeling quite lost as he attempted to navigate the halls of the university. He felt beyond stressed by the immense workload ahead and the last thing he needed was difficulties in finding his office. Illya had just met with the dean, an intimidating blond woman who, with her heels on, was almost as tall as he was. Dean Vinciguerra offered little sympathy for Illya’s situation. She had simply eyed him quite dismissively, scribbled his office number on an oddly unfittingly brightly colored post-it note and sent him on his merry hunt with a curt “UNCLE university is one of the best universities in the world. I expect all members of my staff help us stay at the top.” The dean obviously ran a tight ship and Illya immediately respected her immensely for it.

No slack would be given but then again Illya didn’t expect any. He took his job very seriously and wanted to prove to his new employers that they had indeed made the right decision in hiring him. Lugging around his own material, together with the course books given, was in no way an easy task and he really needed to find his office to unload the mound of books. Finally, Illya was in luck and the numbers on his post-it matched the numbers on a door. But why was it already open? Illya peered inside and saw a man sat, no _sprawled_ , on his chair reading a book of what look like _poetry_? Illya went to reach for the post-it in order to check the numbers again but all that got him was the haphazard pile he was carrying to finally give in to gravity and topple over. Part of him felt lighter than air having dropped the extra weight but a bigger part of him felt mortified. Here he was, a new hire, bursting into someone else’s office only to make a scene. The other man lowered his book at the ruckus Illya was causing and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

“I, uh… Sorry, I was told that this was my office. I obviously make mistake,” Illya apologized as he hurriedly started to gather his belongings.

The other man got up lazily and offered, “Kuryakin, right? Nah, you’re in the right place. My name’s Napoleon Solo and we’ll be sharing this office”.

Illya was taken aback by that and straightened himself, although he had gathered only a couple of his books off the floor. He eyed the snug space and noticed that someone had indeed jammed two desks in it. Illya returned his gaze to Napoleon who was clad very casually in a tee and some jeans. Illya couldn’t help but notice how well both of said garments fit the man but that was beyond the point.

“Ah, of course! You’re my TA!” Illya figured, getting himself back on track.

Now it was Napoleon’s turn to look affronted.

“I assure you I’m not. I’m an assistant professor, just like you. Our department flooded during the summer and is closed for maintenance. So, until further notice, we’ll be office roomies!”

Illya felt dumbfounded. Sure, he knew the US was more relaxed than Russia but surely what Napoleon was wearing wasn’t proper workplace attire for an assistant professor. Illya managed to make an apologetic enough noise while gesturing at Napoleon whose face was looking increasingly unhappy.

“Hey, just because I’m not wearing… Oh, my god! Is that an actual bow tie?” Napoleon looked incredulously at Illya’s outfit and proceeded to reach over to touch said tie.

Illya fought his instincts to shirk away from the uninvited touch or to preferably just slap the affronting hand away. But the movement brought the other man close enough for Illya to really appreciate the blueness of his twinkling eyes. Illya found himself momentarily thoroughly distracted and was in real danger of getting lost in the brown spot in the American’s left eye. Illya shook himself out of it and quickly seeked solace in his rising annoyance.

“What is wrong with tie?” Illya scoffed as he eyed Napoleon’s getup dismissively.

“At least I am not wearing jeans like some American cowboy! This is a place of higher learning and I think our appearances should reflect that.”

At least that seemed to shut Napoleon up and he had thankfully stopped fiddling with Illya’s tie. He was however still standing very close and was now running his fingers through his hair. Illya couldn’t help but track the movement and had the sense that the bastard knew exactly how distractingly his shirt clung to him as he did so. Napoleon was smirking almost half apologetically which drew Illya’s attention to the frankly ridiculous mustache the other man was sporting. Illya decided not to mention the facial hair.

Instead he cleared his throat and aimed for some common ground “Are you a professor of engineering, too?”

“What!? God, no! English lit all the way, baby!” the other man said with much more self confidence than Illya would ever feel with a major as frivolous as that. 

Not to mention for someone who claimed to study the language, Napoleon’s use of it left much to be desired, in Illya’s opinion. At least it explained the clothes. It wasn’t like this Napoleon was an actual scientist. No wonder he didn’t take his job more seriously. After all, literature was about trivial things like poetry and _interpretations_.

“Here, let me,” Napoleon offered as he promptly dropped down to help Illya gather his scattered things off the floor. Illya twitched nervously at the sight of the other man kneeling at his feet and dropped down to stop himself getting excited about the prospect of having Napoleon on his knees for him for a very different reason. His plan failed slightly because it brought them even closer together. As they were shifting to pick up the scattered items, their shoulders brushed. Illya tried not to flinch and the moment of distraction lead him to accidentally go for the same book as Napoleon. As their fingers entwined Illya first froze and then yanked his hand back with a muttered apology that he wasn’t even quite sure came out in English.

Napoleon didn’t seem too bothered by the accidental hand-holding and was once again seemingly amused by Illya. He didn’t say anything but those damned eyes of his twinkled with mirth and the infuriating grin was full on mocking him. Illya tried to avoid any further contact but couldn’t help himself admiring how gracefully Napoleon straightened himself as he stood up. Illya followed suit but stood rooted on his spot, clutching his books to himself and attempting to hide behind them like the coward he apparently was.

Turning to plop his pile on the empty desk, Napoleon briefly thumbed through one of Illya’s books and made a face as he skimmed through the text. After a moment he carelessly tossed the book aside and offered one last easy grin at Illya.

“Well, I’m off. Have fun with _Applied Numerical Modelling for Engineers_ ” and with that he was out the door leaving Illya to take in the rest of the office.

The desks were pushed together and the opposite walls were covered in shelves. Napoleon’s side was almost as empty as Illya’s. Most of his books were probably destroyed in the flood, Illya concluded. Still, Napoleon’s desk looked already like a mess and the book he had been reading was carelessly tossed halfway on top of one of the piles. With a heavy sigh, Illya buried his head in his own reading. Or tried to anyway. His concentration seemed to be completely shot by flashes of an easy grin and a mop of dark curls kneeling at his feet. Illya let out a frustrated groan and tried his best to forget all about the ridiculous American cowboy.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya’s salvation arrived the next morning in the shape of his actual TA. Gaby Teller was a tiny brunette who impressed Illya straight away with her take-charge attitude. She saw Illya’s mess, immediately had handle on it and set them on a clear path. Being German Gaby was also far away from her home country and the fact made Illya feel slightly less out of place. He couldn’t help but like her.

Gaby was just leaving the office when Napoleon got in and although Illya didn’t look up from his mountain of work, he didn’t miss the appreciative once-over the other man gave her. Illya recognized the pang of disappointment briefly wrenching his gut. Of course Napoleon was straight. Most men were, after all.

“She is off-limits,” Illya said in a voice that failed to come off as teasing and sounded every bit as annoyed as Illya felt by the American.

Napoleon’s expression feigned innocence but Illya could see that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That is not how we greet each other in this country, my friend,” Napoleon teased.

Illya briefly glared at him but couldn’t help himself taking the bait. He would after all prefer to keep things as professional as possible and not have Napoleon ever again refer to him as _friend_.

Illya stopped working long enough to fully look Napoleon in the eye in order to offer the man a proper good morning. His plan hit an abrupt halt when he actually allowed himself to take Napoleon in. Gone was that overly casual look and Napoleon was clean shaven, his hair slicked in place and he was wearing a much more acceptable getup. The light colored dress shirt with a tie fit him perfectly and went flawlessly with the pair of dark pants. If Illya had thought Napoleon was relatively attractive the day before he was most definitely distractingly so today.

Illya realized that he had been staring at Napoleon for an awkwardly long time. He had to clear his throat but his voice still sounded a bit rough to his own ears.

“Good morning, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon grinned at him and the smile looked much too smug for Illya’s liking.

“There! That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Napoleon gloated.

“And good morning to you too, Mr. Kuryakin. Also, feel free to call me Napoleon.”

“I’d rather not,” Illya replied gruffly and got a raised eyebrow for his trouble.

“Suit yourself! Who was she anyway?” Napoleon said as he pushed some of the piles on his desk aside to make room for the books he started unloading from his bag.

Illya realized that the reason why Napoleon’s bookshelf was so empty seemed to be because the man stored all his belongings on his desk. Illya could feel his finger give a nervous twitch at the growing chaos Napoleon was causing in his space. Illya fought his urge to mention the mess and the perfectly functional and vacant bookshelf.

“That was Ms. Teller. My TA.”

Napoleon halted in his unpacking. “What? How come you get one and I don’t?” he asked incredulously.

Illya shrugged and took delight in finally one-upping the smooth talking Cowboy in something.

“I don’t know. Maybe proper science is simply better funded?” he offered.

Napoleon let out a dramatic gasp and Illya found himself rolling his eyes at the ridiculous excuse of an academic. Nevertheless, his reaction seemed to have been exactly what Napoleon wanted out of him because the man was looking victorious once more. Illya felt the last remerants of glee leave him as he watched Napoleon pile even more books on his desk. Despite his annoyance, Illya couldn’t help himself from admiring the flex of the American’s bicep as he continued to unravel Illya’s sanity with each new addition to the ever growing mess.


	3. Chapter 3

Mostly thanks to Gaby, Illya had survived the first day of giving lectures. As he stepped inside their office, Napoleon was talking with a student. Illya didn’t pay much attention to them at first but then the student giggled for the third time in as many minutes. It soon became painfully obvious to him that the student had actually made a flimsy excuse to come and flirt with Napoleon. Illya was shocked by her brazenness and was surprised to feel a sudden bang of jealousy.The feeling subsided quickly when Illya noticed how Napoleon handled himself. He was friendly and helpful, but still very professional. He seemed totally unaffected by the situation and not before long she left looking slightly sullen.

To Illya’s horror this was not a single occurrence. Student after student seemed to find their little office hard to pass by without coming in for a little chat. Napoleon was the epitome of poise and grace as he sent yet another young person on their way. Napoleon was shockingly good at picking out the students that actually needed his help from the ones who just wanted his attention. Illya couldn’t help but to be impressed. The natural rhythm with which Napoleon dealt with the students made it easier for Illya to tune them out and concentrate on his work.

That was until all of a sudden, there was a bottom perched on his side of their joint desk. Illya was momentarily startled and when he looked up he saw a handsome young boy smirking down at him. The boy seemed more than happy to simply stare at Illya, who had to break the silence that was getting increasingly awkward for him.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering what courses you might be offering? I am thoroughly enjoying Mr. Solo’s LIT 101 class and was looking forward to some more courses to fill my empty slots with. Could you, maybe, have something for my slots?”

Illya could not believe his eyes or his ears. This kind of familiarity would never fly in a proper university in Russia!

“I highly doubt I do,” came Illya’s clipped reply.

“Aw, come on now! Don’t sell yourself short, dude! I’m sure whatever you are offering is at least half as interesting as LIT 101. Maybe some Wilde or queer theory,” the boy had the audacity to continue.

At this point Illya was getting some of his momentum back.

“First of all, you shall refer to me as Mr. Kuryakin, not _dude_. Secondly, seeing as I’m the professor of electrical engineering, I very much doubt I’ll be introducing Wilde in any of my courses any time soon. Lastly, as Wilde himself so eloquently put it ’some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.’”

The boy stopped fiddling with Illya’s things in order to offer him a rather puzzled look “Huh?”

Illya did little to hide is annoyance “Get. Out.”

Illya drove his point home by getting up and bodily backed the pest of a student out of their office before resolutely slamming the door shut behind him.

Napoleon was watching him with a curious expression and seemed to decide against something and went with a safer “Quoting Wilde just like that? Color me impressed Mr. Kuryakin!”

“Why? I read! Just don’t think reading should be taught at a university. Also, we need to post office hours because today has frankly been utterly ridiculous.”

Napoleon sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. He seemed too tired to even reply to Illya’s dig at his field of study.

“Agreed!”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Napoleon had put their idea into action and Illya was pleased by the sign on their door announcing their office hours. However, his good mood vanished when he read the next part of Napoleon’s work.

_WARNING! Grumpy Russian. Enter at your own peril!_

The poor door protested its handling as Illya stepped through it.

“Very funny, Cowboy,” Illya said as he threw the crumpled up warning sign at Napoleon. The other man caught it easily and to Illya’s dismay threw it nonchalantly on the rubbish heap of a desk of his.

“First of all, I’m saddened to see the progress we made with acclimating you to our greeting culture hasn’t stuck. Secondly, I thought you’d appreciate any and all efforts into making the students stay away, Peril.”

“What did you just call me?” Illya almost snarled and tried to hide the way his finger had started to tap against his leg as Napoleon spoke.

“What? You mean Peril? I thought we were in the nickname giving stage of our relationship.”

“We mostly certainly are not,” Illya grit out.

Napoleon seemed altogether unaffected by Illya’s rising temper.

“Then, who, if you don’t mind me asking, is this Cowboy you were referring to not a minute ago?” Napoleon asked innocently.

Illya froze. Desperately replaying their conversation in his head Illya came to the conclusion that he must have let the nickname slip. The realization replaced his anger with embarrassment quicker than he would ever admit.

“Yes. That is, uh, what I call you in my head,” Illya tried to explain. Judging by the downright gleeful grin on Napoleon’s face, Illya had managed to shove his whole foot in his mouth.

“So, do you think of me often, Mr. Kuryakin?” Napoleon almost purred and Illya used all his willpower not to hightail it out of their office in his mortification. He tried to read the situation as quickly as possible. Had Napoleon figured out the fact that Illya was gay and was now mocking him for it? Despite himself, Illya could also feel a glimmer of hope bloom inside his chest. Could it be possible Napoleon actually liked the idea of Illya thinking about him? Since the American seemed to take almost nothing in life seriously, he could very well be just joking around for the fun of it. Maybe he was even trying to insult Illya’s Russian sensibilities by implying Illya might have any kinds of feelings toward his own sex?

It was impossible to tell and the speed in which the thoughts raced through his mind left Illya a bit disorientated. In the end, he wasn’t entirely sure why but he could feel himself blushing as his body reacted to Napoleon’s provocation nevertheless.

“Do not flatter yourself,” he tried to counter desperately but his retort lacked any punch whatsoever.

Napoleon’s grin grew ever wider and Illya was briefly worried the American might injure his face if he got any more amused by Illya.

There was a slight knock before Gaby entered and Illya had never been as grateful to see another human being as he was at the sight of Gaby. Unfortunately, the universe apparently hated him for no reason because Gaby wasn’t there to save him after all. She was there to utterly betray him.

“If you boys are done flirting I managed to hunt down the book you requested, Mr. Kuryakin.”

The comment made Napoleon face split into an impossibly wide smile and Illya half hoped he was at least spraining a muscle or two for grinning like a loon. Illya mumbled his thanks to Gaby who was grinning almost as wickedly as Napoleon. At least the book gave Illya something to hide behind as he sulked behind his desk.

Napoleon tried to peek over the mountains of papers piled on his desk at what Illya had in his hands.

“That doesn’t look like a boring engineering book to me,” Napoleon said.

“No. It is my favorite book,” Illya mumbled a little self-consciously while holding the cover up for Napoleon to see.

“Not sure what it has been translated as but the Russian name means Fathers and Children,” Illya supplemented.

“Oh, yes! It is known as _Fathers and Sons_ in the States. I’ve been meaning to give Turgenev a go as the book you’re holding has been regarded as the first wholly modern novel in Russian literature,” Napoleon gushed.

Illya found himself slightly speechless once again.

“You know Ivan Turgenev?”

“What? I read!” Napoleon repeated Illya’s own words at him with a wink.

That actually made Illya chuckle.

“I could let you borrow this one but it is in Russian,” Illya offered.

“No problem! I happen to be rather fluent in Russian,” Napoleon responded enthusiastically.

Illya was so dumbfounded by this unexpected piece of news that he let Napoleon take the book from him. Illya found himself watching silently for a moment as Napoleon cracked the spine of the book and settled in comfortably to read it. Illya was half expecting Cowboy to admit he had been joking all along and didn’t even understand the funny looking letters. But after a few minutes Illya concluded that the American would never have the patience to keep up a ruse for that long.

They settled into a comfortable silence which was only broken by Napoleon every now and then asking a meaning of a word he didn’t know. Illya helped but not without mocking Napoleon’s atrocious pronunciation of the words. To Illya’s surprise, Napoleon was keen to learn the correct pronunciations and seemed to enjoy his impromptu Russian lesson and was fast improving his skills under Illya’s tutelage. Napoleon took Illya’s criticism incredibly graciously and didn’t seem to have any problem accepting Illya’s help. The way Napoleon studied Illya’s mouth as he attempted to copy some of the more foreign sounds made Illya feel a little heady. When Illya praised him for finally getting the sound right, Napoleon smiled so brilliantly at him that Illya was sure he would be temporarily blinded by the sight.

Having someone to speak his native language with made Illya suddenly feel warm inside. For once, he did nothing to push the feeling down but allowed himself to bask in it. For the first time since he had arrived in the States, Illya felt himself truly relax.


	5. Chapter 5

After the night spent in their office discussing Turgenev the little poking and prodding from both sides seemed to stop. Illya could admit to himself that he wasn’t terribly averse to sharing the office with Napoleon after all. The new found level of fellowship felt nice and comfortable. The only thing Illya still found hard to stand was the state of Napoleon’s desk.

The mess grew day by day and Illya had actually started sneaking more things on Napoleon’s desk to see if the chaos would ever become too much for Cowboy to handle. All he got for his trouble was listening to the endless shuffle of papers as Napoleon rummaged through his things for whatever he was after. At least the piles got eventually tall enough for Napoleon to start stacking some of his things on the previously empty shelves.

After a week of silently watching the accumulation of books, papers and half drunk coffee mugs on Napoleon’s side of their office, Illya finally found some of the chaos spreading on his desk as well. First it was something that got pushed forward as Napoleon went through one of his endless rummages or Napoleon would temporarily put down whatever he was carrying on Illya’s desk before he could make room for in on his own work space. All of this was something Illya could stand. Not very well, but still. The proverbial straw was seeing his beloved Turgenev spread out underneath a mammoth pile of papers Napoleon had been grading before. Illya’s finger twitched and he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon his beloved book to such level of abuse.

In Illya’s defense, he was only thinking of his Turgenev.

“Oh, you’re here early! Good morning!” Napoleon was way too cheery this early on in the morning if you asked Illya. His cheerfulness came to an abrupt halt however when he noticed his desk.

“What the… Did you clean my desk?”

“Yes. Was very messy. Couldn’t concentrate.” Illya said as he sheepishly half hid behind the Turgenev he had excavated.

Illya couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at the gobsmacked Napoleon who seemingly had difficulties concentrating on any one thing in the room. He took turns gesturing wildly at his desk, at the bookshelves and the spot on the floor that was seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks.

Napoleon was making quite a lot of noise while rummaging through the neat piles Illya had arranged for him and Illya started to regret his cleaning spree. Had he just ruined the newly found level of familiarity that they had developed? He was going to blame said familiarity for overstepping his bounds if it came to that. The battle plan made Illya feel a bit better as kept watching Napoleon’s flailing.

“How am I supposed to find anything now!?” Napoleon demanded.

Illya found his courage and finally looked at Napoleon properly. The American had visibly calmed down after the initial shock but still seemed rather bewildered.

“And you did somehow before?” Illya offered with slightly more bravado than he actually felt.

“Yes!” Napoleon almost shouted, sounding slightly shrill now.

“I had a system! I knew exactly which pile to go to at any given time! Now all my books of poetry are here and what's this, huh? The autobiographies ordered according to the author? How am I… But these books… Huh.”

“Yes? You were saying?” Illya teased.

Illya watched him with a bemused smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth. Napoleon took a few more moments to take in his newly organized work space. He opened his mouth a few times and gestured half heartedly before seemingly giving up. Then with a new surge of triumph Napoleon riled himself up once again. “My student files! Where are my student files!?”

Illya pointed silently at the filing cabinet.

“You went and got us a failing cabinet?” Napoleon asked incredulously.

Illya was puzzled. Surely Napoleon was joking, right?

“No, we’ve had one all this time,” Illya offered.

Napoleon looked as if he didn’t quite believe Illya.

“If you say so,” Napoleon conceded. Then after a moment of going through everything Napoleon sat down in defeat.

“Fine. Maybe your form of madness might work.” Napoleon half mumbled while appreciatively scanning Illya’s handiwork.

Illya full on smirked at that.

“Doesn’t mean I forgive you for touching my stuff!” Napoleon added with an accusatory finger but his words lacked any punch and he seemingly knew it too.

“Uh huh,” was Illya’s elegant answer to Napoleon’s desperate attempts at fuming.

 

* * *

 

 

Illya could smell it even before he stepped inside their office and the heavenly smell made him stop at the door. Seeing him, Napoleon shot up from behind his still thankfully clutter free desk and gestured little frantically at a cup he was holding.

“Here. I brought you a proper cup of coffee. I have seen the way you always scowl just a little bit more every time you take a sip of that mud this university tries to pass as coffee. You’d think with a budget as huge as theirs they could afford a proper coffee maker for the staff room but apparently keeping us caffeinated isn’t a top priority. We can’t be the only two people who have noticed the horrendous quality. Or maybe, you just get used to it as time goes on? The thought alone makes me shudder! If that ever happens to me, feel free to kill me!”

“I will kill you if you do not stop babbling and give me that coffee,” Illya warned.

Napoleon stopped and Illya could swear he was blushing slightly. Luckily, Napoleon wasn’t shocked enough not to hand him the heavenly smelling take-away cup. Illya flipped the lid and just inhaled. His eyes slipped shut and for a moment he was sure he was back home in Russia. He took a sip and couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. Finally! Proper strong coffee! When he opened his eyes and was about to thank Napoleon, he noticed that the other man was now most definitely slightly flushed and staring at Illya a little wide eyed. Illya realized he must have made quite a scene and felt a corresponding blush creeping along his own neck. Clearing his throat, he mumbled his thanks which seemed to snap Napoleon out of his reverie as Illya quickly settled behind his own desk. Illya was trying to find something to say but felt thoroughly awkward. The uncomfortable silence was luckily ended by a knock on their door. A man that Illya recognized as the dean’s assistant stuck his head in.

“Just a friendly reminder, the previously cancelled new staff meet is cancelled no more! So, don’t forget to show up at six! The dean has some exciting news you don’t want to miss!” the overtly chipper man chimed before waltzing to the next office to repeat his announcement.

Illya raised a questioning eyebrow at Napoleon or at least he tried to but Napoleon was studying his own coffee cup intently. Illya had a nagging feeling that Napoleon was avoiding making eye contact with him for some reason.

“Any idea what this news might be?” Illya asked, keeping his voice light and level despite getting increasingly unnerved by Napoleon’s strange behavior.

“I guess we have to wait and see,” Napoleon replied with a tense little shrug.

Illya was about to snap and demand Napoleon to fess up to whatever he wasn’t telling Illya when the American finally flicked a glance at him. Napoleon was still fiddling with the cup in his hands and fidgeting slightly.

“So,” Napoleon finally began. “The party is a plus one. Are you taking anyone? Ms. Teller, perhaps?”

 _Ah_. Illya’s heart started beating a little bit faster and it was his turn to avoid Napoleon’s gaze.

“No. Dating one’s TA is not the Russian way,” Illya replied. He straightened up a bit and put his chin up before continuing. “Besides, she isn’t really my type.”

Some of the tension left Napoleon’s shoulders at Illya’s answer and he finally fully looked Illya in the eye again. Illya was sure Napoleon could read his meaning and was desperately trying to figure out if they were going to have a problem with his halfway confession or not. A wave of relief washed over him when Napoleon’s face broke out in one of his more genuine smiles.

“Well, I happen to be flying solo, too,” Napoleon started and Illya couldn’t help but to roll his eyes at the terrible pun. His reaction only made Napoleon smile even wider and he was operating at full-on annoying American mode again. That never bode well in Illya’s experience.

Napoleon started gathering his things and didn’t appear to be losing any of his new found glee in the process.

“I’m not even going to ask you if you’re going home before the party because I have by now learned that you pretty much live here. I will swing by and get you at six and we can go together,” Napoleon offered.

Illya frowned because he preferred to be punctual.

“I don’t want to be late so I think we should make it ten to six,” Illya concluded while checking his watch.

Napoleon’s grin made Illya feel like he had walked into a trap.

“Great! It’s a date!” Napoleon said with a devious grin and an actual wink. Illya was too scandalized to realize what he had just agreed to before Napoleon was already rushing through the door.

Illya was left alone in their office and all he could think about was the way Napoleon had said the word _date_.


	6. Chapter 6

Illya had gotten almost nothing done except given himself massive amounts of anxiety going over Napoleon’s words. He was half relieved half petrified when the man himself showed up precisely on time to pick Illya up. Napoleon had obviously changed and had gone with a slightly more relaxed look. He wasn’t wearing a tie and had left some of the top buttons of his shirt undone. Illya found the sight quite distracting and hoped he wasn't being too obvious with his gawking.

Napoleon offered him a charming smile that made Illya’s heart do a dangerous little flip flop and a bizarre mixture of giddiness started spreading through his body at the sight. He was a handsome man, Napoleon; strong features, sharp jaw, and that ridiculous smile of his that was always pulling Illya in like a magnet. Illya realized something at that moment, a kind of realization one has after much contemplation of sorts. And he knew now he was in deep trouble.

“Are you ready to go?” Napoleon asked pulling Illya out of his musings.

Illya had been ready for what felt like hours and he got up a little too eagerly for his own liking. Napoleon held the door open for him with a little bow. Illya offered him a wry thank you and a sarcastic curtsy in return. That made Napoleon crack up and the weird tension was finally gone. They walked to the party chatting like they normally did and Illya was equal amounts of relieved and strangely disappointed.

When they arrived, Napoleon was stopped by someone he knew. Illya offered to get them some drinks and left them to it. As he was surveying the spread, he was approached by a dark haired man Illya didn’t recognize. Something about him gave Illya an uneasy feeling.

“You’re the new recruit from Russia, right? I’m Alexander Vinciguerra, the head of the English department,” the man said offering his hand for Illya to shake. Judging by the last name and the wedding ring, Alexander was also the dean’s husband, Illya gathered.

“Illya Kuryakin,” the Russian offered curtly. The other man didn’t seem the slightest bit deterred by Illya’s icy demeanor.

“I understand you’ve been stuck with one of ours, Mr Solo, for some time now,” Alexander continued.

“Has not been that bad,” Illya said and tried to smother his surprisingly strong need to defend his Cowboy. He quickly corrected himself for thinking that since Napoleon wasn’t his in any sense of the word but his train of thought was interrupted by the other man once more.

“Oh, come on! You don’t have to pretend with me! We all know he spends his time at work mostly chasing skirts and rumor has it, the occasional pair of pants too, if you catch my drift?” Alexander carried on.

Illya’s finger twitched and he turned fully towards the man and did nothing to hide the mounting disdain he was feeling for the dean’s husband.

“I do not catch your drift even the slightest, Mr. Vinciguerra. In my experience, Mr Solo handles himself in the most professional manner when at work.” Illya lowered his voice and leaned into the other man’s personal space. “I also wish to make myself very clear that if you indeed have a problem with, as you so ineloquently put it, someone chasins pants, you also have a problem with me.”

To Illya’s delight, Alexander was squirming uncomfortably and made a hasty retreat. Illya let out a sigh and turned to see Napoleon standing behind him.

“That almost sounded like you were defending me,” Napoleon said with an unreadable expression on his face.

“That man was not being factual so I had to correct him,” Illya was quick to retort to hide his embarrassment.

“Oh, is that all? You were just defending the facts?” Napoleon teased.

“Yes,” Illya nodded.

Napoleon got closer to him and looked almost coyly up at Illya.

“Hate to break it to you, Mr. Kuryakin, but that is not actually true now or is it? From the day one you have questioned my professionalism almost every day. So, the only conclusion I can draw from the evidence presented here today is that you do in fact simply care about little ol’ me,” Napoleon continued.

Illya had walked into enough of Napoleon’s traps by now to finally escape this one. Gazing down at Napoleon, Illya decided to hide nothing.

“Maybe I do,” he half whispered and even with the buzz of all the other people around them, Illya could hear the little surprised gasp that Napoleon let out.

The moment was broken by a shrill, clinking noise as someone tapped a spoon against a glass. The room fell silent and the dean walked in front of everyone to give them a speech. Illya was paying little attention to her because he could think of nothing else but the heat of the man standing close enough next to him to touch. Illya wanted nothing more than to press himself fully against Napoleon and finally familiarize himself with the other man’s scent. Illya was distracted enough to almost miss it when the dean revealed that the renovation of the damaged wing had been finished. Illya was surprised how crushed he felt when he realized they wouldn’t be sharing an office much longer.

Illya turned his wide eyes to Napoleon who only smiled softly back at him.

“Seems like we won’t be office roomies anymore, huh?” Napoleon said.

“Yes,” Illya replied flatly because he had nothing clever to say to that.

“Oh, come on! Cheer up! I won’t be that far away,” Napoleon prompted and playfully bumped his shoulder against Illya’s.

“I guess not,” Illya agreed even if slightly ruefully.

“Maybe we should go check out my new office? Just so you know where to find me?” Napoleon offered and then leaned close so only Illya could hear him. “And maybe you can help me christen the place, hmm?”

Illya wasn’t familiar with the phrase but he could read loud and proud what Napoleon was offering. Not trusting his voice, Illya just nodded and let Napoleon lead the way.

The door had barely closed behind him before Illya got pressed against it. Napoleon’s hand was curling its way through Illya’s hair in order to pull his face down for a kiss. Cowboy kissed dirty with tongue and when he nipped Illya’s bottom lip he couldn’t help but let out a whimper. Napoleon’s other hand ran restlessly all over him and Illya’s own hands felt completely useless. He simply gave into Napoleon’s demanding mouth and did everything in his power to pull the other man closer. Everything was hot and desperate and just this side of frantic but so _good_. Illya was feeling positively drunk with it all.

“God, Illya,” Napoleon moaned between kisses.

“Fuck, why are you so damn tall?”

Illya realizes that he had thrown his head back against the door which made it very hard for Napoleon to reach his lips. Not that the American seemed to mind since he was simply attacking Illya’s exposed neck. Illya wasn’t about to complain when he felt Napoleon’s hot mouth on his pulse. But he did know a way to even the playing field, so to speak.

Illya fisted his hands into Napoleon’s jacket and demanded “This off. Now.”

Napoleon nodded and while he was distracted with ridding himself of clothing, Illya pushed off the door to back Napoleon up the few remaining steps to his desk. Now it was Illya’s turn to crowd Napoleon and just as the other man got his hands free, Illya lifted him to sit on the handily empty desk.

“Good thing you haven’t moved in yet, no? Otherwise there would be no room for you on this desk” Illya teased with a smirk.

His smile turned into a downright gawp when Napoleon smirked back and started to unbutton his shirt deliberately slowly. Illya reached out to help but his hands got slapped away. He got the hint and rested his hands on Napoleon’s spread thighs. Illya felt a heady wave of lust at the way Napoleon’s thighs inched apart just a little bit more under his touch. Napoleon’s self-assured smile faltered just the slightest bit but his nimble fingers continued to unbutton his shirt. With every button Illya’s fingers twitched on Napoleon’s legs as he fought the urge to touch. Illya’s eyes raked hungrily over the newly exposed flesh and his tongue came out to wet his suddenly dry lips. Illya was satisfied to notice the way Napoleon’s eyes followed the movement. Illya in turn openly admired the way Napoleon’s muscles flexed as he finally rid himself of the shirt completely. God, but Illya wanted.

Napoleon’s hands went to the waist of his own pants and Illya loosened his grip in anticipation. Ever the tease, the American’s hands changed course abruptly and instead ran up his own torso, through the dark hair and across a hardening nipple. Illya was transfixed and his fingers twitched uselessly as Napoleon leaned back on his elbows and the nipples Illya wanted so desperately to play with, moved frustratingly further away from him.

It was clear Napoleon was getting off on being admired but he also wanted more.

“Your turn,” he said while gesturing at Illya.

Illya decided to completely misunderstand Napoleon and to finally take what he had been wanting for so long. He let his hands travel through the coarse hair and finally have his turn playing with one of Napoleon’s nipples. Illya bent down to mouth along one of those ridiculously broad shoulders. Encouraged by the noises Cowboy was making, Illya worried the juncture where Napoleon’s neck met his shoulder with his teeth.

“Not, uh, what I meant,” Napoleon managed to gasp. He stopped his complaining soon enough as Illya’s ministrations brought their groins closer together.

Illya could feel the hard heat of Napoleon’s arousal against his own and all of a sudden, he wanted to feel more of the other man. Napoleon was one step ahead of him and was yanking Illya’s shirt out of his pants and Illya hurried to help him get rid of said garment. Illya growled in frustration since he had to straighten up in order to get the shirt off faster. Luckily, Napoleon solved the problem by following him up. Unluckily, the other man was also thoroughly distracting Illya by latching his damned perfect mouth on any exposed inch of skin available. Illya’s fingers fumbled with the buttons as Napoleon’s hands travelled underneath his shirt. When his mouth closed around Illya’s nipple, the little devil sucked. Illya let out an embarrassing whine and gave up on his shirt to attack Napoleon’s pants instead.

It was Napoleon’s turn to gasp against Illya’s skin when Illya’s hands brushed against his cock as the Russian hurried to open his pants. Napoleon eagerly lifted his hips to help Illya and Illya has rarely been more grateful in his life. His mouth watered as he freed Napoleon of his pants and underwear and his fingers twitched to touch. The Russian growled in frustration as Napoleon’s shoes hindered his progress.

“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” he couldn’t help but complain.

Napoleon let out a breathy chuckle “There is no pleasing you, is there? First, I’m not wearing appropriate clothes and now I’m wearing too many? You really should try and make up your mind because… I…uh…” Napoleon trailed off as Illya finally rid him of the rest of his clothing and started kissing his way up Napoleon’s inner thigh.

Illya manhandled Napoleon closer to the edge of the desk and Napoleon opened his mouth as if to protest. However, he didn't utter a word in protest as Illya dropped to his knees. He nosed Napoleon’s balls until he heard Napoleon gasp and then stopped.

“Yes? You were saying?” Illya teased.

Napoleon just stared at him with his mouth hanging open. Illya took immense pleasure in finally managing to shut the Cowboy up. Illya was going to tease him further but looking up at this gorgeous man destroyed his self-restraint. So, Illya continued his exploration self-indulgently. He let his hands wander and tease and scratch while he mouthed his way up the juncture of Napoleon’s thigh before sucking a biting kiss against his hip. When Illya could feel Napoleon’s muscles quiver, he took pity on him and made his way back to Napoleon’s cock. Illya simply dragged his lower lip along the length from root to tip before letting his tongue out to taste him. Napoleon let out a shaky keen and Illya stopped once again. Napoleon stared down at him with a desperate look and Illya returned his gaze. Napoleon looked devastating gripping the edge of the desk white knuckled and his strong chest heaving as he gasped in desperate breaths.

Illya, ever the cruel one, kept his mouth where it was so that his lips brushed against Napoleon’s cock as he spoke “You need to keep quiet, yes?”

Napoleon bit his lip and nodded frantically. Pleased by Napoleon's reaction, Illya urged him to lie back on the desk with his ass hanging mostly on nothing and his thighs on Illya’s shoulders. Illya hummed his approval and took the tip back into his mouth. He could hear Napoleon bang his head against the desk but he managed to muffle his groan by shoving one of his own hands into his mouth. The other hand reached out for Illya and the Russian hummed in satisfaction once again as Napoleon’s fingers attempted to find purchase in his short hair. Illya draped one arm over Napoleon’s belly to keep him in place and brought his other to circle the base of Napoleon’s cock. The other man writhed under the added stimuli but kept quiet. Satisfied, Illya set a teasing rhythm and twirled his tongue around the tip with every upstroke. He could feel Napoleon’s thighs quiver on his shoulders and he was starting to fail to keep his noises at bay. Illya barely noticed over the roar of his own blood in his ears and the desperate ache in his own cock.

After a particularly loud moan that sounded a lot like Illya’s name, he decided to take mercy on Napoleon. Illya moved his other hand to fondle Napoleon’s balls and then to press behind them. Napoleon’s head trashed and the fingers in his hair spasmed almost painfully. Illya moaned around his mouthful and Napoleon seemingly couldn’t decide whether to shove his cock further into Illya’s mouth or to press down on his probing fingers. Illya inched his fingers further back to press against Napoleon’s entrance while simultaneously letting his length slip in the back of his throat. Napoleon’s body reacted to him beautifully. He tensed all over and he tried to wrench Illya off his cock but the Russian just swallowed him impossibly deeper. Napoleon’s hand did little to muffle the cry of Illya’s name he let out as he came. Napoleon was still trying to catch his breath as Illya worked him through the aftershocks.

“God, Illya. Your mouth,” Napoleon moaned as he urged Illya up.

Illya chuckled and allowed Napoleon to pull him up to hover over him on the desk so that Napoleon could kiss him. Napoleon chased his own taste shamelessly as he plundered Illya’s mouth and sucked on his lower lip. Then Napoleon’s clever fingers found the very prominent bulge still trapped inside Illya’s pants.

“We really should do something about this, shouldn’t we?” Napoleon teased and Illya could only nod because Napoleon’s hand on his painfully hard cock robbed him of any capacity of thinking. Together they worked to free Illya and Napoleon hurried to get his hand around the other man’s cock. Illya was crouched slightly awkwardly over Napoleon but the American still managed to find an angle that worked. Illya couldn’t help but to let out a sob of relief to finally have Napoleon’s hand on him. The relief soon ramped up to desperate need as he rutted shamelessly against Napoleon.

Napoleon bit down on his ear before whispering in a slightly breathless voice  
“Why is everything about you so damned big, huh? Shame I didn’t get to have this in me this time.”

The words sent yet another spark of lust through him and Illya buried his head against Napoleon’s shoulder in desperate attempt to muffle himself. Napoleon murmured little encouragements to him as if Illya needed any at this point. Then the sneaky American twisted his wrist _just so_ and Illya’s release got wrenched out of him and he came hard all over Napoleon with a shout.

Illya was tried supporting most of his weight on his shaky arms as Napoleon was running his fingers idly across his sweaty back.  
“If this is how you approach sex, Illya, then next time we most definitely need to do it somewhere where I can make all the noise I want in peace,” Napoleon mused.

Illya nodded against Napoleon’s shoulder and raised his head to look at the man sprawled under him “Agreed. You Americans have no discipline.”

That earned him an eye roll from Napoleon.

Illya continued undeterred. “And if sucking you off makes you this loud I am very interested to see how much noise you make when I eat you out.”

Illya smirked when Napoleon couldn’t help but groan at that.

“Yes. Good start. What about when I have made your hole all wet and quivery and I finally fuck you, hmm?”

Napoleon gawked at him and they could both feel Napoleon’s dick twitch with interest.

“Yes. I think it will be my favorite experiment yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 I wish I had had more time to make Gaby into a proper character. I feel like I let her down :/ 
> 
> 2 I also would have loved to include a scene about paper grading but again, I ran out of time
> 
> 3 I hope no one took any of the digs Illya made about lit majors too personally.
> 
> 4 I blame Armie Hammer for giving me the Turgenev blot bunny.


End file.
